


Heal

by podgle



Category: Control (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Happy fluffy fluff, blood cw, not much but just in case you're not into that sort of thing, spoilers for Foundation DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/podgle/pseuds/podgle
Summary: Emily's worrying (probably justifiably), Jesse's not. They talk it over.
Relationships: Jesse Faden/Emily Pope
Comments: 28
Kudos: 155





	Heal

Emily lowers the pistol and frowns. Her shot is perfectly on target, of that she has no doubt. She had tackled her field training with the same focus and dedication as her lab work, and after many hours of practice, she is confident that she can hit most Hiss center mass. Her quarry, a mannequin wearing an arrangement of black, ceramic-looking plates, is looking worse for wear. On inspection, one of the plates (right over the heart, as Emily had intended) has cracked into several pieces, three of which are now embedded in the dummy. 

Emily sighs. “Well, shit.” 

She pulls a fractured piece of the Black Rock out of the mannequin, inspects the broken edge carefully, then throws it hard against the closest wall with a grunt. The crash as it shatters into tiny fragments is momentarily satisfying, but the unintentional results cause Emily to frown more. 

“You okay?” 

Emily is scrutinizing the uneven edge of one of the pieces, cataloguing the failures and filtering through possible solutions. This is iteration number fifteen and she's starting to suspect that the Black Rock is rebelling against her, chastising her for making it do something it doesn't want to do. It wouldn't be the first time something in the Oldest House had a vendetta against her. 

She absent-mindedly runs a finger over the scar on her forearm, a present from an angry briefcase, then jots down some notes. 

“Hey, Pope!” 

Emily jumps, snapped out of thought. Jesse strolls over, a small smile on her face. 

“Whatcha working on? Looks like it's going well.” She peers over Emily's shoulder, who tosses her her clipboard onto a nearby table, next to the pistol. 

“Something that's going nowhere fast. Back to the drawing board. You have fun in the maze?” Emily asks, wiping at some dust on Jesse's arm. They've mutually agreed that there will be no overt displays of affection at work, but when they're down in Maintenance and it's quiet and Emily has a direct line of sight to the door, it's hard to remember why The Rule(TM) was really such a good idea. She's reasonably certain Arish has figured out their relationship, and the man gossips like there's no tomorrow, so most everyone will know by now. She's surrounded by scientists, and they'll all have their own theories. Best not give them solid evidence. 

The Rule(TM) is definitely not easy to remember when Jesse's got that post-battle flush and a smirk on her face, though. Thankfully, Jesse breaks the silence and saves Emily from doing something HR would disapprove of. 

“I know I'm not supposed to be pleased when we find Hiss in the building, but I can't help it when they turn up in the maze. Makes me feel like an action hero.” 

Emily laughs. “And all the levitating, throwing sofas with your mind, and communicating with paranormal entities is just a bit pedestrian?” 

“Well, when you've talked about sandwiches with a giant one-eyed bug monster, you have to get your kicks somewhere.” 

Jesse wanders over to the mannequin, inspecting the damage. 

“Those edges are sharp, don't cut yourself,” Emily says. 

Jesse nods, but pulls back and sucks on the end of her finger anyway. Emily rolls her eyes good-naturedly. 

“Nice shot, Pope. What did this guy do to deserve it?” 

“We're having a disagreement about transformation toughening. I'm not sure who won.” Emily starts to unload the pistol, ejecting bullets into her hand. “I'm starving. What's on the menu today?” 

“Tofu something. It smells...well, it smells. We should get lunch at the deli instead.” Jesse is still looking carefully at the mannequin. 

“Alright, let's go. I have a meeting with Underhill this afternoon. If my stomach rumbles when she's talking she'll probably try to have me fired.” 

“On what grounds?” 

“Not paying 100% attention. She got mad at me for sneezing last time. I was surrounded by spores! What was I supposed to do?” 

“Be more respectful, clearly. What is this meant to be?” Jesse asks, looking underneath one of the Black Rock plates. “Kind of looks like body armor.” 

Emily gathers her gun case and clipboard. “Just testing a fracture toughness theory. I have a lot of data. Are we going? There's a rueben with my name on it.” 

Jesse turns to look at Emily, one eyebrow raised. 

Emily's been on the end of this look before. Once when she failed at surreptitiously pilfering the last of a packet of Double Stuf Oreos. Once when she tried organizing them a surprise trip to Atlantic City but got caught in a half-baked lie about a parautilitarian conference at the Golden Nugget casino. Once when she tried to convince Jesse that the briefcase bite didn't need stitches as she bled all over the floor. 

Emily knew when she'd been rumbled. 

“It's a prototype. Just an idea I've been playing around with.” 

“One that kept you up at 3AM?” Jesse asks, brow knitted. 

Jesse isn't a cuddler in bed, she's too warm for that, but she does like to have a small bit of contact with Emily through the night. Usually a foot brushing Emily's leg, or fingertips barely touching her side. It's incredibly endearing but is also an excellent alert system in case she slips out of bed to chew over a theory or write out a to-do list. She suspects, knowing Jesse's on-the-run past, it used to serve a much more upsetting purpose. 

Emily feels a flash of guilt for making Jesse worry. 

She puts the gun case and clipboard down, then leans on the table, eyes tracing the fake wood grain pattern so she doesn't have to see Jesse's concern. 

“It's nothing, really, just something that might help with Hiss encounters. I can't get it to work so it doesn't matter. I have a lot of useful data about Black Rock being a pain in the ass, though,” her voice rising as she scowls at the mannequin. “I'm not sure how much it can be refined.” 

“So it _is_ body armor,” Jesse says, much closer now. 

Emily nods. 

“Em,” Jesse reaches out, running a finger over the shoulder strap of Emily's HRA. 

Emily looks over, her eyes settling on the pink scar poking above the neckline of Jesse's black t-shirt, mind drifting. 

Although she was a devoted follower of science, Emily was less curious about the practical side of human biology. Especially after the dissection of a pig's eye during high school and Miss Price had suggested that Emily get some fresh air before she passed out at the back of the classroom. It was enough experience for Emily to conclude that there were other people better suited to insidey bits than she was, and had happily avoided college bio classes and episodes of Grey's Anatomy ever since. 

It wasn't until Jesse, with her propensity to dive face-first into trouble and the occasional flying sofa that Emily had paid much attention anyone else's blood or injuries, and felt the need to get involved. To try and make sure they didn't happen again. 

She shifts her gaze to a thin, white scar just below Jesse's hairline. 

“You remember when you went after those Hiss Elevated in Research and Records, and got clocked in the head with a filing cabinet drawer?” 

Jesse chuckles. “Arish said I was singing Billy Joel songs the whole time he carried me back to Central Executive.” 

“You didn't stop for an hour afterwards, either. Regardless of how many lyrics you had to make up.” 

“Apparently I don't like to be constrained by rules when I'm concussed.” 

“Or propriety. My ass was declared to be 'so fine it should be in a museum'.” 

Jesse flushes red and rubs the back of her neck. “You've never mentioned that before.” 

“I spent a lot of time trying not to think about it. We were still just work colleagues and I was furiously telling myself that no, I didn't have a thing for you and your comments were just the work of a very scrambled mind.” Emily pauses for a moment. “I also needed to figure out how an ass museum would work.” 

“It's not dedicated to all asses. Just yours.” 

“Good to know. We'll talk about this later. Stop looking at my butt.” 

Jesse meets Emily's eyes, her face of practised and not at all believable innocence. Emily huffs a laugh, then runs a thumb over Jesse's hairline scar. 

“Do you know what you looked like when they got you back here?” 

“I'm gonna go with dashing and debonair.” 

“You looked like an unfortunate extra from a slasher movie. Blood everywhere. Your face was covered. You'd tried to wipe it out of your eyes with your hands, so you were leaving handprints everywhere, and your shirt was ruined.” Emily leaves out the bit where she had to convince Jesse to take off the blood-stained shirt, and then the forty five minute debate that followed about the merits of putting on a clean shirt, all whilst Jesse sat there in her bra and jeans. 

“So maybe roguish, rather than dashing?” 

Emily tries to force a smile. “You scared the shit out of me, sweetie.” Jesse's face falls. “I'd just assumed that between your powers and Polaris that you were fairly invincible. You'd come back from both Tommasi fights with just scratches, you know? Then some basic Hiss nearly takes you out.” 

Jesse squeezes Emily's hand. “It was just a concussion, Em. And I'm no weirder now than I was then. Perfectly consequence-free.” 

Emily makes a neutral noise. “Let's talk about that later, too.” 

“Hey-” 

“-You know I'm an advanced first aider, right?” Emily interrupts. 

“I figured when you patched me up.” Jesse gestures at her chest scar. 

It had been an eventful introduction to fieldwork: a trip to the Foundation to gather up some Maneki-neko had turned into an ambush by Hiss Sharpened. Emily had read a fair amount about flow states, had experienced them during particularly successful lab sessions, but watching a focused and lethal Jesse in action was something else. The Director conducted a symphony of organized destruction, hurling barrels and rocks and tables whilst dodging mid-air projectiles and raising shields of rubble from the floor and walls. Emily did her bit, smartly taking out Hiss with her Lewis gun, Rangers by her side. They'd missed one, though, and it managed to clip Jesse across the chest with a pickaxe. Jesse retaliated with a swift forklift to the pointy bastard's face, but was obviously shaken when she dropped back to the ground, pale and trembling. 

Emily had pulled Jesse into a nearby office, stitched her up, and resisted the urge to reassure them both with a strong kiss. The Rangers were worried about their Director and were hovering outside the door; it was not the time. Once they'd left the Foundation, stashed their equipment and Jesse had gone to get the once over by the FBC doctor, Emily had allowed herself a two minute cry in the restroom. 

“I took a course after you serenaded us with Piano Man,” Emily says. 

“I don't remember signing that off?” 

“You didn't. I did it on my own time, because I knew you wouldn't approve it if you thought that I was doing it for you.” 

“Well, no. Probably not. Seriously, I'm fine. You don't need to worry.” 

Emily takes Jesse's hands. “I know I don't have to. Turns out I love you, though, and it comes with the territory. Before I did that course, I found handling raw chicken gross. Now I'm putting my girlfriend back together. It gives me some agency when you try to stop fire extinguishers with your face.” 

“You love me?” 

“No, you're a pain in my museum-quality ass. Yes, I love you. I get scared, though. Not because I don't think you're good at your job. You're amazing at it. It's very hot, frankly.” 

“You do appreciate me and my skills,” Jesse smirks. 

Emily blushes and lightly punches Jesse's shoulder. “Stoppit.” 

Jesse sobers a little. “I appreciate what you're trying to do. Really. It's...well, it's probably the nicest thing anyone's done for me. And I love the theory. I think body armor would slow me down, though. I need to be, er...” 

“...lithe?” Emily asks, with a suggestive eyebrow raised. 

“That.” Jesse clears her throat. 

Emily sighs. “I just worry. You're really good at opening jars and lifting very heavy things. I want to keep you around.” She checks no-one's at the door, then pulls Jesse into a hug. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Em.” 

Emily pulls back, but keeps her hands on Jesse's hips. She's admiring _that_ leather jacket when a thought hits her. “Wait, what if I could get Black Rock to form into threads and then weave it into your clothes? Like kevlar? Then you could move but still have some protection and...” she continues to talk to herself as she absent-mindedly pushes Jesse aside to reach for her clipboard, furiously writing notes. 

Jesse laughs. It's not the first time she's been ditched for science. She wouldn't have it any other way. 

“Thanks, Em.” 

Without looking up, Emily mumbles a “you're welcome.” She jots a final note. “Would you be okay to take part in some tests?” 

“Of course. Is this an excuse to shoot me?” 

“Only if you publicly praise my ass in front of Arish again.” 

“Sold.” After a moment, a sly smile spreads across Jesse's face. 

“Yes, you can do it privately,” Emily interrupts, knowing exactly where Jesse's mind is going. “Actively encouraged, in fact.” 

“Good. We getting lunch?” 

“Yes.” 

Outside the building, Jesse slips her hand into Emily's. “Thanks for looking after me.” 

Emily presses a kiss to Jesse's cheek. “Best job I've ever had.”


End file.
